The Bird and The Bull
by GlamFolk
Summary: When Petyr finds the natural son of the late King Robert, he takes him back to the Vale in hopes of sealing the Stark and Baratheon name once and for all.While he schemes to raise an army, the little bird and the bull try to build something real in a world that is anything but.
1. Chapter 1

In all her life, Sansa never thought she had met a man as handsome as he.

How Petyr had found him, she didn't know, but the moment she saw her new fiancé, she didn't very much care. Standing there, looking into his eyes – blue, blue like the sky over the sea – she felt giddiness grow within her stomach, the excitement of a young girl she had thought died long ago.

He looked nervous- he shifted his weight from foot to foot, unable to hold eye contact with her for more than a few seconds. Petyr was the first to speak.

"Funny, how these things work out, isn't it?"

Sansa snapped back to reality, and turned to Petyr. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he gestured to the man. "You will marry Robert's son after all,"

He flinched at that last bit, and Sansa saw a little fury in his eyes. She stepped forward, close enough to reach out and grab his hand.

"Would you walk with me?" She asked, gently running her thumb along the top of his hand.

"As m'lady commands," he finally said. Sansa smiled at him – the smile she had learned to wear in uncomfortable situations. Feeling him clutch her hand tighter as they moved past the moon door, Sansa felt her unease fade.

She took him to the battlements atop the castle, and leaned against the stone, looking out into the endless expanse of the sky and mountains. The wind blew her hair into her face – it was almost red again. He stood there, stoic as ever, before speaking up.

"I met your sister," he said. Sansa perked up and turned to him. Her mouth dropping.

"Where?" she asked, with an urgent tone.

"It was on the way to the Wall. She was dressed like a boy – I don't know where she is now. I think the Hound-"

"The Hound has my sister?" she interrupted. A million scenarios flashed through her mind, terrible images- while Arya had been a nuisance in their childhood, Sansa found herself missing her little sister more than ever. At night she would long for the days when she was four and Arya two, and they shared a bed. She never felt as safe as she did then, and regretted the day she declared she was too old to not have her own bed.

"Sans- m'lady, Arya…Arya's strong. She's a fighter, whatever you think may have happened to her-"

"You can call me Sansa," she interrupted, looking back into his eyes. They were so blue- how could eyes be so blue?

His face softened, and for a moment Sansa thought he was going to kiss her. But he continued. "Sansa," he finally said. "I would bet that Arya is safe, fighting her way out of any mess she's caught in. She's tough. And lucky." He smiled, remembering how a few years ago he would have thought it impossible that a high born lady could cause as much chaos but escape with her life.

Sansa turned back to the mountains, and sighed. "I miss her. I was cruel to her, the way sisters are to each other. I wish I could take so much back," She looked down at her gloves, and made a fist with her hand. He moved next to her, resting his elbows on the battlements and looking out into the sky.

"I wish I had never left the forge," he says. "All these lords and ladies talk about claims to the throne, whose blood is royal and whose arse should be on some pointy chair, making decisions for people they don't care about," He ran his hands over his face, the tiny crackle of skin on stubble echoing.

"Politics," Sansa sighed. "How do people not grow tired of the lies and deception? It seems these days that trust is more rare than dragons,"

"I heard there are dragons, in the east," he smiled. Sansa couldn't help by smile back.

The wind blew fast and hard, almost knocking him off his balance. He reached out instinctively for her arm, but immediately pulled away.

"I'm sorry," he said. Sansa felt her chest deflate. It had been so long since her boundaries were respected. So often had she been mishandled, touched against her will. She reached out, and brushed some soot off the top of his eyebrow with her thumb.

"There's no need to apologize," she said, her voice soaked in honey.

He reached up, carefully, and held her hand against his. He hand was so soft, and small against his. He looked up at her, and wondered how this lady could be the sister of the wild wolf girl he had known.

"I don't like heights," he confessed finally. Sansa giggled, and laced her fingers in between his.

"I'll take you to my favorite room then," she said. She hadn't felt this happy in ages. "The library here- it's fantastic," she began to pull him to the door but felt resistance. She looked back at him, confused.

"I…" he looked down at his feet. "I don't know my letters. Bastards don't get an education."

Sansa wanted to hit herself for being so stupid. She just assumed people knew how to read because the only people she had been surrounded by were nobles.

"Sir," she said. "You are talking to the proud bastard of Petyr Baelish."

He smiled at that, and looked up at her. "That's bullshit, Stark."

"Being a bastard is nothing to be ashamed of," she continued with the joke. "I've met some of father's friends who have enough money to buy the Iron Islands who can't read three words. If you want to learn your letters, I'll teach you. Now come along," she gripped his hand tighter, but still felt some resistance. When she turned back around, he was closer. She never noticed how black his hair was – it was beautiful.

"Sansa," he said. Her heart leapt at the sweetness in his voice. "Call me Gendry."


	2. Chapter 2

Whenever the weren't on the battlements or in the library, he was shy. Sansa noticed how he wouldn't look at her, and how he would become panicked whenever she approached him in the forge. It had been a week since she began teaching him how to read in the library, and Sansa had begun to feel a real connection with her betrothed, but in the following seven days something changed. She had first noticed it the day after he had arrived, when she had gone down to breakfast and he had hastily excused himself from the table. When she sought him out in the main hall, one of the serving girls said he had gone to the forge and had been beating the life out of some metal. For a week that was the only answer she got - he's in the forge, hammering. She was smart enough to know when someone wanted to be left alone - Gods know she had experience on that end - but she began to miss having company apart from her screaming, sickly cousin and her lecherous guardian, whose hands often found their way on her shoulder, or playing with her hair, as he waxed on about strategy and when she should be married. She had taken to rereading the books she had loved when she was younger, but her mind kept drifting off, lost in memories of snow and the soft fur of her long dead Lady. On the seventh day, when she couldn't take it anymore, she swapped out her gown for a simple linen dress and cloak and walked down to the forge.

He didn't notice her come in- he was too busy hammering away at some poor piece of metal. Sansa stood in the doorway, her eyes traveling up and down his body. He was muscular, with large hands and chest hair that traveled the length down his body. Sansa always wondered why men would work without shirts, but at this moment, she was grateful for the gendered quirk. She leaned against the doorway, watching his hands twist the hammer idly as he considered his work. He turned to the water and plunged the steel in, and Sansa watched the muscles of his back ripple as he dipped and drew it back out. Heat bloomed inside of her, and she almost lost her voice.

"You've been in here a while," she said. He jumped, startled to have heard someone. She removed her hood and walked into the forge. Her long hair was dyed black again, and pinned back into a messy knot.

"I've been..." he looked at the table and reached for his shirt. Pulling it over his head in a show of decency, but what Sansa knew as a means to have extra time to think. "...working."

"On what?" She said, letting her fingers glide over the smooth pieces of metal that lay on the table.

"Nothing. Anything," he picked up a piece and flipped it in his hands. "They're all scraps. Not anything can could be made into something useful,"

"I can talk to Lord Baelish," she said. "Perhaps he can get you what you need,"

Gendry scratched the back of his head. "We have what I need, the smith just won't let me touch it."

"Why?"

"He thinks me a nuisance. Just some lowborn dropped into his lap. No one knows about..." he trailed off, still embarrassed to meet her gaze.

"Our engagement," she finished for him.

"Right,"

Sansa nodded, and looked at the piece of metal before her. Copper shined back at her, dancing in the firelight.

"Do you only make weapons?" she asked.

"No," he said. "Helms, armor, anything a soldier needs,"

Sansa picked up a small piece of copper that had been forked at the top, with five pieces branching out away from the other. She turned to him and held it up.

"This one looks like a flower," she mused.

Gendry considered her. This Stark was so different from the one he had met on the road. Where Arya would have stepped on flowers, Sansa found their likeness in the smallest scraps. Anya's fire was hot and angry, Sansa's was warm, calm-but still had the ability to burn. Gendry had watched her play off Baelish, he wasn't as stupid as everyone thought him to be. He picked up on the ways that she would smile at him, notice those small shifts of power that lasted seconds at the longest, where the most cunning man in all of the Seven Kingdoms was at the mercy of a sixteen year old girl. She knew it, too. He could tell she didn't trust him- and before she had been introduced to him he had seen her in the main hall, pacing up and down. Stark girls always seemed like they were plotting escape.

"I could make a prettier one," he said, almost too eagerly. Sansa's eyes met his. Gods, she was beautiful. "Why have you secluded yourself in here for seven days?"

Gendry was speechless. She thought he was avoiding her. And in a way, she was half right-but not because he held any disdain for her. Rather, he was scared. The minute he saw her he was scared. He had avoided her because he didn't want to embarrass himself with his lowborn ways - Arya hadn't minded, but what of her sister? The one who loved songs and poetry and handsome men? He was a bastard, dirty with soot and shame. Working was the one thing that calmed his mind, and as he pounded away, he had been trying to think of how he could better himself. He didn't want a life at court, but something about Sansa made him want to impress her, to learn songs and know which bloody fork he had to use to eat a crab or whatever it was people with money ate. He didn't think she could want him as he was, and was mapping out a strategy to change.

"Thinking," he said. He ran his hands across his beard. "I feel safe in forges, I suppose."

Sansa nodded. "I felt safe in the Godswood, back home," she looked around the forge. It was hot, and she was sweating through her dress, but something about this place- she felt comfortable.

"Could I stay here?" she asked. "Sit while you work?"

Gendry was at a loss for words. All he could do was nod.

She smiled at him, not with one of those fake smiles that she gave Petyr. From under her arm she pulled out a book, and found a perch on the table. Ladies shouldn't sit on tables, but she wasn't a lady - not in the Vale.

"What are your reading?" Gentry asked after a beat.

"Fairytales, child's stories," she said. "Embarrassing,"

"No," he responded quickly. There was a pause as they locked eyes. He reached for the scraps on the table, and a tool to shape it.

"Would you read me some?" he asked "While I work?"

Sansa was surprised by the kindness in his voice, and turned her attention to the book in her lap.

"'Once upon a time...'" she began.


	3. Chapter 3

Gendry had finished it.

Holding it up in the light of the forge fire, he examined his handiwork. It had taken upwards to a week, but the petals looks so delicate and effortlessly weightless. In the shine of the fire, the copper matched the color of her hair-her real hair-and the steam was thin but sturdy. Like a real rose.

It was late when he had finished polishing it, leaving the right amount of shading in the grooves between the layers. He toyed with the idea of waiting until morning to give it to her, as he was sure it would be breaking some code to seek her out at this time of night, but he honestly didn't think he could sleep if he had to go to bed without seeing her reaction.

Uneasily, he made his way to the castle, with a rough linen cloak wrapped around his shoulders. _Won't be able to wear these for much longer,_ he thought as he opened the door to the main hall. _Lords don't wear rough spun fabric. _He thought of Baelish's ugly doublets and overly fine cloaks- is that what Sansa expected of him? He imaging himself looking more ridiculous than distinguished, dressed up like that. It wasn't who he was.

_It is,_ he thought. _At least now._

He made his way to the stairs leading to the library wing. It was cold inside of the castle, but Gendry felt sweat begin to form on his forehead and on his palms. Suppose she didn't like it? Suppose she laughed at it, a stupid trinket from a stupid boy. Why was he even bothering? He should turn around and go back to the forge-

"I don't WANT to go to bed!" he heard that insufferable brat, 'Sweetrobin', cry from the library doorway.

"My lord, it's late..." he heard Sansa's tired voice try to calm him. "Don't you want to be up early enough tomorrow morning so we can take the walk I promised you?"

"Let's take it now," he whined. Gendry shuffled closer to the door, peering in. "I'm the Lord of the Vale, Petyr said so. They have to do what I say,"

Sansa sighed as Sweetrobin latched himself around her waist. "My lord,"

"Come sleep with me Alayne," he cried. "I always sleep better when you're with me,"

"I'll call for the Maester," Sansa said, not acknowledging his request. "He'll give you some sweet milk...you always sleep well on sweet milk,"

"I DON'T _WANT _SWEET MILK!" he shrieked. Before Sansa could say anything, his tiny head swiveled towards the door.

"Who's there?" he demanded. "Identify yourself! Before I make you fly!"

Gendry quickly stuffed the rose into his breeches pocket. He entered the library cautiously, rubbing the back of his head.

"Gendry," Sansa's voice softened.

"Good evening," he said, in his best lordling voice.

"You're dirty," Robert spoke up.

"Robert!" Sansa chided. "There's no need to be rude!"

"Well he _is," _Robert turned back to him. "Why are you here? What do you want?"

_To wring your little bird neck. _"I was coming to check on the two of you," he said to Robert, before looking back up to Sansa and seeing her small smile creep through her disguise.

"We're _fine,_" Robert stuck his tongue out. "Alan has been watching me, I don't need a stupid, dirty, babysitter."

"My lord," Sansa ducked down to his level. "I think it's time you go to bed,"

"Come with me!" Robert said. Behind him, Gendry could feel another presence. He turned quickly to see the older Maester clutching a vial. He slipped past him and into the room.

"NOOO!" Robert cried. "I don't WANT to. You have to listen to me! I'm the lord!"

"That may be," the Maester said. "But even lords have to go to sleep,"

"I _hate _you!" Robert spat. "You're old, and smelly!"

The Maester sighed before bending over to pick the boy up. Sweet robin struggled against him, throwing a tantrum as he was carried out of the room.

With the door closed, Gendry turned back in time to see Sansa face drop. She fell back onto the bench she had been sharing with her charge, and sighed heavily.

"Handful, that one," Gendry said, walking over to her.

"He's sick," she said quickly.

"And a brat," Gendry countered.

She smiled up at him. "And that,"

Suddenly, he became self conscious and looked to the fire in the room. It was roaring, and sending off an enormous amount of heat.

"Would you like to sit with me?"

He turned back to Sansa, whose hair was lighting up. Her hair was dyed back to the black it was supposed to be, but he could still see the flecks of red shining through. _Her fire refuses to die. _

Carefully, he sat down next to her and looked at his feet. She wouldn't let him off so easily, though.

"I haven't seen you in a while," she said, reaching her hand out to lay on his dirty hand. "What's captured your attention so?"

"I've...been busy."

"Really?" she said. "By all means, keep me waiting."

He gave a short laugh before looking up at the wall, trying to avoid eye contact. He was awful at this, why Baelish had plucked him from that inn on the Kingsroad to come back and be this beautiful woman's husband...it was beyond him.

"Gendry," she said softly. He turned back and looked at her. Her face was soft, but with the unmistakeable look of concern. Quickly, Gendry dove into his pocket, not wanting to have her think something was wrong. He withdrew the rose, and handed it to her.

"I tried making it as quick as a I could," he said. Sansa's breath hitched as she reached out to take it from him, her fingers grazing his as she took it into her hands, cradling the blossom in her palm as her other thumb ran the length of the stem. "I just couldn't get it right. The copper was brittle, and the petals kept falling apart...I had to start from scratch a few times-" he turned back to look at her, expecting her to be angered at his ugly gift, or, by some miracle, happy, but she was neither. She was crying.

"Oh...Oh no, did I do something wrong? Seven hells, I-"

"No!" she spoke up, and he froze. "No," she said, softer this time. She looked back down to the flower. "It's-it's perfect. It really is. It's been so long since anyone showed me some kindness without wanting anything in return. I guess I forgot how it felt to have someone..." she trailed off, grasping for the words to say.

"To care about you?"

She looked up at him, a bit shocked. He smiled at her and, carefully, as if he had never done it before, reached out to touch her face. As gently as he could, he brushed his thumb across her cheek, taking a tear away. "You're welcome,"

He moved to leave, but she had grabbed his hand. When he turned to ask her what was wrong, she crashed her lips against his. As quickly as it had happened, she pulled back, with a look of surprise, as if she was shocked by her own behavior.

"Sorry," she said, looking back down at her hands.

"Don't be," he whispered, his fingers reaching up to brush his lips. "Sansa..."

"I can be impulsive," she smiled, looking back at him. "But don't think this means you'll get to come into my bed before the wedding,"

"What?! No, I would never-" Sansa laughed at his fluster, before he found out she was joking. He laughed in spite of himself.

"Thank you for this," she said, gesturing back to the rose after a beat. He looked back down at her hands, having forgotten the rose entirely.

"Of course," he said. She turned back and looked at him, letting her eyes linger on his, then fall to his lips, before speaking again.

"I should...go to bed." she said. She looked back into his eyes again. He felt his head give a small nod, never taking his eyes off her pretty mouth. Her head turned to look at the door, breaking his trance.

"I'll walk you," he said.

Sansa looked back at him, as if she was going to correct him.

"I'm not trying to- I just want to make sure you get there safe,"

He didn't have to say anything. His small hints during their small amounts of time together, Sansa had picked up on his mistrust of Petyr. She had caught him standing in the doorways during her discussions with Petyr, and saw his body clench with discomfort whenever her guardian put his hands upon her, as innocent as it may seem.

"Very well," she said. Almost instinctively, she wrapped her forearm around his, her fingers grazing his bicep. Gendry was surprised by how natural it felt.

They walked in silence down the corridors, listening to the sound of their footsteps. Occasionally they would pass by a window, and Gentry's eyes would fall to Sansa, her skin glowing in the moonlight, her hair reflecting back its silver. Every step they got closer to her quarters he resented. He would have walked all night around this maze of stone and sky as long as she was next to him.

Sansa stopped in front of a heavy wooden door and turned to him. Her hair was loose, long, framing her sweet face as she looked up at him.

"Thank you, for walking me," she smiled. She turned to unlock the door but he caught her forearm,and quickly spun her around, pressing his lips against hers.

_Lemon_ he thought. _That's what that taste is._

After a moment, he pulled away. Sansa face had an odd expression about it- dazed like a dream. But when she looked back into his eyes, there was an unmistakeable feel to her stare. _Hunger._

"Goodnight, Sansa." he said, turning to walk his way back to the forge.

"Goodnight," she called out softly. She quickly pushed open her door and fell against it, shutting it. Alone in her room, safe from any onlooking eyes, analyzing her face for small slips or a glance behind the mask she had learned to wear, she allowed herself to smile. She held the rose out to her face, and looked into the petals.

Roses. How did he know she loved roses?

:::::::::::::

Hey guys!

Thanks for reading. I know this is kind of a crack ship, but I love it. Your reviews make my day in the middle of finals. I'm going to try to keep updating this as much as I can through out hell week. I'm working on another Gendry/Sansa story at the same time, it's called 'You Don't Know Me'. Apparently I'm the only one of who writes Gendry/Sansa, so check it out if you need more! Or write some yourself! Let's make this ship grow.

Thanks again guys!


	4. Chapter 4

Sansa had been a lady at three.

It seemed like since birth she knew how to curtsey, what dress was appropriate for what occasion, and even which stupid fork to use. She had pricked her fingers raw with sewing needles until she had mastered stitching, and brushed her hair until her arms were sore every night. She had starved herself at dinners at her septa's, and now Petyr's, encouragement, for their fear she would get plump. But as Sansa sat on her bed, finishing off the last of a lemon cake she had snuck from the kitchen earlier, her hair spread around her in a long, copper mess, with her betrothed snoring beside her, she didn't feel like a lady. She felt like a girl.

Sansa rolled onto her back and sucked the sweet juice off the tips of each of her fingers. It was late, and she knew it wouldn't be proper for her to stay out in the gardens. Petyr had the villianous habit of waking early, and taking long walks around the grounds. In addition, he had every servant in the castle under his thumb, and could make them talk with the slightest pressure. He would yell at her, tell her that if anyone else had seen she would have ruined their opportunity- opportunity for what, she didn't quite know, or at this moment, care.

It had happened earlier in the evening, when they had been sitting in the library and Sansa was showing him recipes that the kitchen hands had lent her. She thought the mix of numbers and words would challenge Gendry, but not completely stump him. He was smart- when she was younger, Sansa often thought intelligence was only an attribute of those who could afford to be educated, but watching how quickly Gendry picked up words, the ferocity at which her copied down his letters until they were perfect, and how he was getting better at sums than she was ("I'll need a new teacher soon", he had said when she couldn't make heads or tails of one of the equations she had found in one of the old school books), she began to realize that what she had believed before was the privileged outlook of a noble girl, and that intelligence appears in every class. She had met bumbling noble idiots with enough gold in their pockets to pay for the construction of thirty universities, and now she was sitting across from a boy who, weeks before, couldn't tell you all the letters in the alphabet, but who now seemed more well spoken and logical than half the men she had been surrounded by her entire life.

"This is making me hungry," Gendry said suddenly, dragging Sansa out of her trance. She had been drawing some flowers in the margins of one of the older books that SweetRobin had deemed to be reappropriated as a sketch book. She looked up and saw him holding up a recipe card for wild boar.

"We just had dinner," she smiled up at him.

"I just had dinner. You pushed around some meat on your plate,"

Sansa bit her nail - nasty habit, Petyr had scolded her for it before.

"I've been warned against eating too much," she said.

"Eating too much?" Gendry balked. He stood up and grasped her hand, gesturing for her to raise. "You're practically a stick. Didn't they feed you before I got here?"

Sansa searched for words that would calm him down, and assure him that she was being taken care of, but he spoke up before she could finish.

"Come," he said, pulling her towards the door. In the passing weeks since their kiss outside her room, he had gotten more comfortable with her, confident, even. Where before he seemed to blush and keep his head down whenever she entered a room, now he smiled at her and touched her lightly on the arm or fingers whenever she drew close. He was chivalrous, yet forceful, in a way that excited her. Any touch or small, knowing smile from him made a heat bloom in the pit of her stomach, and many nights since her gave her the rose, she would lay awake, thinking of his strong hands folding the metal onto itself, the sweat that formed on his forehead whenever he worked. Those night, she thanked the old gods and the new that she didn't share a bedroom with anyone.

"Where are you taking me?" she giggled and they crept down the stone corridor. Gendry was playing up his walk- tip toeing and pressing them against walls whenever they heard the on coming footsteps of a servant. Once during the mission he pulled Sansa into a small nook and held her close as a servant walked by, oblivious to the two of them. Sansa felt his hand on the back of her head, and looked up at his face, shethed in the not-quite-darkness of a hallway at night as he watched the servant leave, and wished they could stay like this; pressed against each other while inhaling the intermingling smell of forge and sweat.

"Coast is clear," he said, pulling out almost too fast. Sansa stumbled out, but caught herself before falling, just in time to notice Gendry's hand readjusting the front of his trousers. _Oh._

It was a quick trip to the kitchen from there, and the two were quickly raiding the counters and cupboards for any bread or left over meat. Sansa had just found a small loaf when Gendry gave a small cry from the other side of the room. Quickly, she picked up her skirts and went to him, just in time to see him turn around and beam at her.

"Quickly," he said as he handed her a large plate. Sansa smelled them before she could make them out in the dark. Lemon cakes.

"Where did you-?" she asked before Gendry turned around, his hands clutching the bottom of his shirt to form a small pouch filled with other sweet bread. "Let's go," he interrupted her, gesturing to the doorway with his head. Sansa followed, dumbstruck, as he led her out the servants entrance of the kitchen, down the corridor, and into the small garden on the west wing of the castle.

"Think we're safe now," Gendry said, settling himself under a tree. Sansa daintily walked over to him, and sat down on the grass as gracefully as she could.

"Good haul," he said, laying the desserts down on a loose napkin he had put in his pocket. He looked up at her, waiting for her stop say something.

"How did you know they had these?" she said, running her thumb along the edge of the plate she was holding.

"I over heard the servants talk," he said, reaching out and grabbing a raspberry tart, and chomping into it aggressively. "They said _Lady Sansa is fond of her lemon cake_."

Sansa blushed and looked down at the cake. She hadn't had it for months, not since she arrived at the Eyrie. She sometimes put lemon in her wine when she missed the sour and sweet sting of citrus, but it was no substitute.

"Well come on," Gendry said, licking tart of his fingers. "Eat,"

"I...I don't have a fork," Sansa said quickly.

"You don't need one," he leaned over the bread and took a pinch from one of the cakes, and put it back in his mouth. "See?"

Before she had known Gendry, Sansa would have been disgusted with such a display, and never would have dreamed to lower herself to eat in such a manner. But something about him - his boyish smile as he exaggerated chewing the cake and made loud noises of contentment, or the way the moonlight cast a blue outline across his beautiful face and strong muscled arms. Maybe it was the fact that lately even the thought of him made her palms sweat and her stomach tie itself in knots. Whatever the reason, Sansa Stark decided that tonight, she wasn't going to be a lady.

She picked the lemon cake up with two hands and brought it to her face, eagerly chomping into the center and savoring the taste. Gods, how she had missed it. She looked up to Gendry expected to see disgust, evidence that she had crossed a line, but instead he laughed and reached over and took a chunk from her hand.

"Hey!" she reached out for it, but he held her back as he bit into it.

"I thought ladies knew how to _share_." he said, scraping the lemon meranguine off his thumb with his top teeth. Sansa pulled her hands back, and reached up to undo her hair. Her long tresses fell past her shoulders and she crawled closer to the pile of food. She reached out for the last remaining lemon cake, and dragged her tongue across the surface. Smiling, she held it out to Gendry.

"By all means, my lord," she said, smiling through her teeth.

Instead of taking the cake like she expected, Gendry pushed her hand aside and brought her face to his.

He tasted like raspberry. Sansa felt his tongue run against her bottom lip before she experimented with opening her mouth. Almost immediately, he stabbed his tongue in, causing her pull back.

"Sorry!" he said almost immediately. There was a long pause before he sighed, and looked down at his hands. "Men at the taverns on the Kings Road said women liked that...I'm still new at this,"

"New at what?"

"Women."

Sansa smiled. "I think you're doing well enough," she said, sitting back up and scooting closer to him.

"Do you?" he said flirtatiously as her hand began to move along his jawline, scratching the soft patches.

"Just take it slow," she said. "Like you're biting into a peach you want to savor,"

Gendry laughed out loud, almost falling over onto the picnic.

"What's so funny?" Sansa snapped. Gendry kept laughing, rolling on the grass with his hands of his belly.

"If you don't tell me, I'm going to go back to my room," she threatened. His hand reached up, and pulled her down on top of him, landing with a squeak.

"You're funny," he said, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head. Sansa relaxed against him, listening to his heart beat through his linen shirt. She scoot in closer to him, throwing her arm over his torso as they looked up into the sky.

"Do you know the constellations?" she asked. She felt him nod.

"Tell me their stories," she said, reaching down beside them to grab the lemon cake she had licked. Breaking it in half, she handed a piece up to Gendry and began to nibble on her portion and he began to tell her.

"That one," he pointed. "That's the first dragon. It made a wager with the gods that he could fly farther..."

Sansa fell asleep to his voice, telling her stories about knights and monsters and star crossed lovers. When she awoke again, she found that they had rolled onto the desserts in their sleep. Every instinct told her that staying out in the garden would be improper, against everything she was taught, and would call her reputation into question.

Sansa Stark was a lady at age three, but at seventeen, she discovered she much preferred just being a girl.

She snuggled in closer to Gendry, who wrapped his arm tighter around her shoulders.

_Let them find me_, she thought_, _breathing in the smell of sugar and smoke on his shirt. _Let them find us._

::::::::::::::

Hey guys!

Thanks for keeping up with my little story. Someone asked about the rationale of pairing Gendry and Sansa, and honestly, I just like them! I don't like Arya x Gendry because of age difference, and Arya now being a faceless man and making a vow to never marry. I want Robert's son with a Stark girl though! And Sansa seems like her perfect match would be a common man who would love her without any hidden agenda.

Thanks for reviewing!


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